


Trials, Tribulations, and Weddings

by Lemon (lemon_sprinkles)



Series: Soldier's Heart [6]
Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Gift Fic, Hurt/Comfort, I swear its actually a happy fic, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, References to Depression, Soldier's Heart Universe, Wedding Planning, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-24 23:19:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13821576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemon_sprinkles/pseuds/Lemon
Summary: Being married to Kaidan didn't worry Shepard; it was the actually getting married part that did.Post-war; Soldier's Heart Universe





	Trials, Tribulations, and Weddings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Estalfaed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estalfaed/gifts).



> Warnings: Mentions of PTSD, anxiety, depression, and depictions of panic attacks.
> 
> Written for the brilliant and thoughtful Estalfaed who's support and guidance is a valued treasure. Thank you for being awesome, peach.

They said marriage was the hardest thing to go through.

 For Shepard, the prospect of marriage had never been something that bothered him, mostly because he never thought he’d ever _get_ married. Street kid to Alliance grunt to Commander and then finally Spectre; none of these things had really left room for romantic dalliances. Besides, Shepard didn’t expect anyone would _want_ to marry him. He didn’t need EDI telling him that he could, on occasion, be ‘difficult’ in order to understand that he was… well, difficult.

 But when Kaidan got down on one knee in the kitchen of their home, a blush on his cheeks and tears welling up in those big brown eyes of his, Shepard already knew the answer before it was asked.

 No, the prospect of being married to Kaidan had never spooked Shepard; in fact his entire relationship with Kaidan had never been something that had scared him.

 It was losing him that terrified him.

Shepard fretted over screwing up their relationship so entirely that Kaidan would leave. He would see the light and run for his fucking life, not a backward glance sent his way. Shepard knew, deep down, that Kaidan would never do that. He would never hurt him like that. But that didn’t stop the little voice in the back of his mind—or more like the forefront of his mind—from convincing him that Kaidan needed and deserved better.

 But then Kaidan proposed. He was the one to suggest that they stick around together for a very long time. And he asked it in such an honest, soul-bearing way that Shepard had no choice but to believe the words, the contrary voice in his head shutting up long enough for Shepard to say ‘yes’ without a moments hesitation.

 Death do us part wasn’t so much a thud of finality as a hopeful promise.

 But the moments between ‘will you marry me’ and ‘I now pronounce you’?

 Those were the hard parts.

XX

 It started in bed.

 “I think we should do a large reception.”

 Shepard glanced over at Kaidan, noting he had his personal datapad open and was scrolling through what appeared to be his contact information.

 “I thought it was going to be a small event. You know, just family and friends,” he replied.

 “Yeah, for the ceremony. But the reception is… it’s going to be big. It’s got to be big, if we want to avoid a diplomatic incident.”

 Shepard could feel his stomach tighten at the prospect. Big. A big event. Filled with potentially hundreds of people and aliens in one room—packed and squashed together like goddamn sardines, all looking at him and expecting things from him and…

 “John?”

 Kaidan was staring at him. Shepard refused to meet his gaze. Instead he burrowed down further into the blankets.

 “I’m no longer in the Alliance—I doubt I could create an incident even if I wanted to,” he said.

 Kaidan sighed. It wasn’t his telltale ‘you’re being difficult’ sigh, but an ‘I’m sorry…’ sigh.

 “I’m still with the Alliance, though.”

 Shepard finally looked at Kaidan. He had his brows pressed together and lifted, his amber eyes welling with concern and warmth.

 Kaidan knew it wasn’t an easy thing to ask. He knew he shouldn’t even be asking it. And yet…

 This was Kaidan’s career. Making nice with his bosses and talking sweet to the politicians and pretending to be interested in their lives; it was all part of the gig. And that was also the reason why Shepard left after the war—he just couldn’t do it anymore.

 That, and his crippling depression, anxiety, his PTSD, and a fucked up leg.

 But still, he was sick of the bureaucratic shit, too.

 “How many people are we talking?” Shepard asked carefully. Tactfully. A casual note at the end of an entirely un-casual question.

 Kaidan smiled slightly—just a little grateful curl of his lips that made Shepard feel mildly better—before he returned to his datapad and began scrolling. And scrolling. And scrolling.

 Shepard’s gut ache returned.

XX

 Shepard never thought he’d have to work with his therapist to make it through a simple room viewing, but days before he and Kaidan were set to inspect locations for their reception, Shepard found himself going over calming exercises to prevent any potentially ‘embarrassing’ episodes.

 But all the planning ahead couldn’t prepare Shepard for just how uneasy he felt stepping into a simple ballroom.

 “And this is where your reception would be held,” the asari wedding planner—Altheta—said as she threw open the double doors into the reception hall.

 The room was more like a chasm. Light wood covered floors stretched out before them and continued on for what seemed like kilometers. Wall length windows took up the entire left side of the room, while the right side contained more double doors, their destination completely unknown to Shepard. At the end of the room and staring back at them were asari styled statuary, their massive forms both elegant and intimidating.

 Shepard gripped Cosmo’s leash tightly and refused to move from his spot in the doorway. Kaidan remained with him, but Altheta continued in unperturbed, heels clicking primly on the carefully polished floors.

 “The room can hold almost five hundred people—including fifty Krogan—but since you’re only inviting four hundred guests this should give you ample space. The ceiling has been designed to carry sound all around, so any guests in the back of the space will be able to hear your speeches and any music you choose to play.”

 She turned around, still grinning.

 Shepard remained where he was, but Kaidan’s gentle nudge got him to take a few steps inside the chasm.

 His chest immediately began to squeeze tight, and he gripped the leash even tighter. He felt exposed inside the area—exposed and insignificant and tiny. He felt like he did inside a Reaper.

 Altheta seemed completely oblivious to the discomfort and continued with her speech, rambling on about how they could use the space to their advantage, such as designing a stage for the wedding party to sit on, just below the peering, cold gaze of the statues up ahead.

 Shepard couldn’t hear much of what was being said, the thrumming in his ears a very persistent reminder of just how fucking uncomfortable he was. All he wanted to do in that moment was run; find himself a nice, small room where there was only one entrance and exit with no windows or exposed spaces.

 He wanted to go _home_.

 Instead he shuffled off to the side and pressed his back against the wall, grounding himself with the assuredness of the solidity behind him. He knew he had to close his eyes and breathe deeply like his therapist had suggested, but he couldn’t even get comfortable enough to close his eyes. The rows of doors to his right kept him vigilant.

 Anything could come through them.

 “Those lead toward the kitchens and the washrooms,” Altheta said, noticing where Shepard was looking.

 Something in her tone had indicated to Kaidan something, and whatever that something was combined with a small whine from Cosmo, was enough to drag his attention away from the statues at the end of the hall. Shepard must have looked as bad as he was feeling, because Kaidan was immediately rushing toward him while asking Altheta for a moment of privacy.

 She left without complaint, the double doors sliding shut with a resounding thud just as Kaidan touched his shoulder.

 It was then that Shepard noticed Cosmo’s wet nose desperately shoving against his hand as he leaned hard against his leg, trying to bring him back to the present. Shepard absentmindedly patted Cosmo’s head in some vein attempt to reassure the dog more than anything. It didn’t work.

 It also didn’t work on Kaidan, whose hand gripped his shoulder just a little bit tighter.

 “John… hey, John.”

 Shepard tried to look away from the end of the hall—tried to tear his gaze away from the space before him. How many people were going to be in here come their wedding day? Four hundred and fifteen. Four hundred and fifteen people—many strangers, mostly just people he’d spoken to for a few minutes. All of them squashed in this space, doors on all sides opening and closing, people moving all over, crushing him in—locking him in the space.

 What if there was a fire? An attack? How many people would panic? How many exists were there to get out? How exposed would Kaidan be in that moment? How could Shepard protect him? Should he bring something just in case? A gun? To his own wedding?

 How would any of this—

 “ _John_.”

 A forceful tone this time.

 Shepard felt Kaidan’s hand on his cheek—so warm and calloused and familiar—and he finally managed to pull himself from that well-worn and familiar ledge to look at Kaidan.

 All he saw was fear.

 “Hey,” he said, for lack of anything better to say or because it was all he could get out without wanting to vomit all over the polished floor.

 “Hey,” Kaidan replied. He was petting Shepard’s cheek, and Shepard concentrated on that and only that. The simple, easy motion of Kaidan’s skin pressed against his own, and how he could match his breathing to the gentle strokes.

 He didn’t know how long they stood there, but eventually the room came back to Shepard; as did his now painful grip on Cosmo’s collar and the ache in his knee where prosthetic met living flesh.

 “Maybe we should pick a different room,” Kaidan mumbled.

 It got a chuckle out of Shepard at the very least.

XX

 “You know, people are going to think we’re the ones getting married.”

 Shepard rolled his eyes and nudged Garrus’ knee under the table.

 “Although,” Garrus continued, unperturbed by the eye-roll, “they’ll probably take one look at you and realize that I am way out of your league.”

 “Because the famed Archangel is completely out of the _Great_ Commander Shepard’s league,” Shepard replied.

 “Exactly,” Garrus drawled. “I mean, saving the galaxy and all? That’s easy. But keeping up the mystique and mystery of the Archangel title is a whole other level. Face it, Shepard, I’m just too cool for you.”

 “And Kaidan’s not?”

 Garrus’ mandibles twitched in what Shepard had come to know as the Turian version of a ‘grin’.

 “I’m not saying a thing on that one,” Garrus said.

 Shepard thought Kaidan was cool but he knew speaking it aloud would only make Garrus laugh and claim victory, so he kept his mouth shut and instead waited eagerly for their cake samples to arrive.

 Other couples sat at small tables in the back of the bakery, their eyes large as they stared down at the variety of samples before them. Kaidan had sent Shepard along with Garrus (the dextro side of the cake equation) to pick out the cake of the reception, a goal Shepard figured he could cope with. After his almost-meltdown at the reception hall Kaidan had taken over most of the duties despite Shepard’s guilt. It was a lot of work to take on, but Kaidan had insisted that Shepard’s mental health was more important to him than a full eight hours of sleep every night.

 Shepard had countered with Kaidan’s own health being just as important, but then Kaidan cheated by dropping to his knees in the shower and after that the conversation was as good as done.

 But when Kaidan had asked for Shepard to go and pick out a cake he quickly agreed, wanting to both prove that he was mentally fit as well as to help Kaidan out wherever he needed it.

 Unless the bakery gave him carrot cake. In that case Shepard figured another melt-down would be in the works.

 The tray of cakes arrived shortly thereafter, along with steaming cups of coffee and large bowls of sugar. The cakes were piled high with all sorts of decorations, some of which Shepard wasn’t sure were edible or not. Vanilla, chocolate, mocha, red velvet and, unfortunately, carrot slices were coated in thick white icing, cherries or strawberries dispersed amongst the fluffy white displays. Garrus’ cakes looked much the same, but a light blue tinge marred the icing, a way for the bakers to avoid mixing the cakes up.

 They were left with instructions to rate the cakes on the little cards they had been given, and were then left to the taste tests.

 Shepard immediately went for the mocha cake, already knowing it was what Kaidan would most likely pick when all was said and done. Garrus, however, hung back and made his coffee quietly.

 But Shepard could feel his beady little eyes on him—watching and observing. He was getting ready to say something that Shepard didn’t want to talk about, and that made the delicious cake suddenly feel very heavy in his mouth.

 “Whatever it is just say it,” Shepard said through a mouthful of icing.

 “You don’t look very… steady,” Garrus said.

 “I never look steady,” Shepard said, wiping his lips with a napkin.

 Garrus shook his head. “No, you haven’t for a while. But there was a period in there where you looked better. You looked…”

 “Mentally stable?”

 Garrus nodded. “Sure.”

 “I’m fine, Garrus. And I don’t need you fussing over me like everyone else does.”

 Garrus threw up his claws. “I’m not fussing. I would never fuss over you—that’s not what I’m here for. I’m just wondering…”

 “Wondering what?”

 Suddenly the cakes didn’t seem all that appealing.

 “I’m wondering if you want to have a wedding.”

 Shepard’s cheeks turned a horrid shade of red, and he swallowed the last chunks of cake with an audible gulp.

 “Of course I want to be married to Kaidan,” Shepard said quickly. It was true. There was nothing more in the entire galaxy that Shepard wanted than to be with Kaidan entirely; to be his husband; to be _his_.

 “I’m not asking if you want to be married to Kaidan, Shepard,” Garrus drawled, “I’m asking if you want to have a _wedding_. I’m not very knowledgeable about human customs, but from what you’ve told me the wedding and the marriage are different things. And judging by the way your eyes are sinking into your skull, I’d guess the difference comes down to uh… stress.”

 The anger left as quick as it had come and Shepard sat deflated in front of Garrus. No one had asked him if he wanted a wedding; it had just been an expected thing—for both he _and_ Kaidan. Proposals were followed by a wedding; that was what people—or humans—did. It was how they’d always done it, and Shepard supposed he just caved into the pressures because of it.

 If he had it his way, Shepard would have liked to have gone to the courthouse, signed a certificate, and then hosted a barbeque in their backyard for friends and family. They’d have done it like they did everything else together; simple, sweet, no-fuss-no-muss, and entirely their own thing. But they weren’t a normal couple. Tali had once remarked that they were almost galactic royalty. Everyone expected an invitation to the biggest wedding the galaxy had seen in a long, long while, and Shepard in all his rebellious glory couldn’t find it in himself to say no to the mounting pressures.

 Even if it killed him.

 “No. Not really,” he admitted.

 “I know you’ve got that whole martyr, throw yourself on the sword mentality, Shepard, but you’re allowed to be selfish sometimes,” Garrus said quietly.

 “Kaidan wanted a wedding,” Shepard said. It was true—Kaidan wanted a small wedding where he could stand under the altar and read his mushy vows and create a lasting, happy memory. He was a sentimental fuck like that.

 Shepard loved him for it.

 But he wanted a small wedding; just friends and family and maybe a co-worker or two. But the pressures got to him too, and in addition to friends and family they had counsellors and politicians, clans and tribes and even a consort coming. The invitations had been sent, the media informed, and there was no backing down.

 “Everyone expects it from us,” he continued. “And we can’t back out of it now.”

 Garrus didn’t say anything for a while, and Shepard returned to his cakes with a certain sullenness he knew was annoying but couldn’t quite stop.

 Garrus finally picked up his fork and took a bite from one of the cakes, a small noise coming out from the back of his throat that the translator couldn’t change.

 “What?” Shepard asked.

 “Carrot,” Garrus said, disgust evident on his features.

XX

 Shepard stood in front of the full length mirror and stared at the single red rose that rested against his breast. Lips parted and hands hanging at his side, he breathed in and out as evenly as he could to stop the tremble in his hand and the tightness in his chest. Beneath the tuxedo, and beneath flesh and bone, knotted deep inside was an ache that Shepard couldn’t quit release. It had started late last night and persisted throughout the morning, a tangled web of worry and anxiety and fear with the smallest kernel of excitement.

 Kaidan’s mother had told him that all men were nervous before their wedding day—it was a natural reaction to a life changing day. Anxiety in this occasion was an okay thing and something everyone experienced.

 But Shepard knew it wasn’t normal or okay. He knew the signs—had felt it before time and time again. His body was screaming at him to run; to take flight and leave whatever danger was coming. His chest squeezed tighter and tighter as the panic attack climbed up his back and seized the back of his skull. It curled around his spine, pain shooting down his neck and across the back of his head, the throbbing in his ears as blood pumped through him amplified and painful.

 Soon he’d be standing in front of hundreds of people at the reception, every single eye on him and Kaidan, unfamiliar faces mixed with the familiar in a messy watercolour that seemed monstrous and grotesque. Noises from everywhere would invade his senses, and people would walk in from this way and that, coming from all angles, impossible to track in the crush of people. Every exit would be miles away from him as he sat trapped behind a table, hands reaching for a weapon he knew didn’t exist and that he shouldn’t need.

 He was losing it, and the one person who could stop it all—who could ground him and keep him in place—was in another room because of fucking tradition.

 Shepard stumbled back from the mirror, knees hitting the edge of a chair. Collapsing backward, he curled in on himself and tried to steady his breathing as his hands reached to rip at the hair on his skull.

 The press of a nose nudged at his hands, and Shepard clued into the steady panting of Cosmo. With eyes still squeezed shut he reached out and dragged Cosmo into his hard embrace, trying to use him as an anchor—as his guiding companion, ever present and steady and ready to help.

 Only it wasn’t enough. Shepard could hear himself gasping for breath and the trembles in his hands had become full on shakes. He didn’t feel as if he were in a room at all, but rather he was locked away in his own mind, bundled up within its oppressive, confining walls. He couldn’t get out. He was _trapped_.

 And then steady hands covered his own.

 Shepard couldn’t see who it was but knew immediately just by touch.

 “Kaidan,” he choked out.

 Kaidan was murmuring things Shepard couldn’t make out over the rush of noise in his head, but he didn’t need to hear it to feel it deep within. Slowly—so very slowly—Shepard felt his hands relax and Kaidan’s own wrap around his gently, grounding him in the here and now, pulling him from the confines of his own mind.

 His muscles began to relax—one fiber at a time—until he could raise his head enough to press his forehead against Kaidan’s. Kaidan’s breath touched his lips, and each exhale served as a model by which to replicate. In and out, in and out, in and out, until the gasping stopped and all that was left was an occasional hitch in the system—a little gasp followed by more steadiness.

And then a kiss. A simple press against his lips, nothing more than the touch of skin to skin that made Shepard feel safe; made him feel loved; made him feel _whole_ again.

 He didn’t know when they moved, but at some point Kaidan had managed to get him to the bed in the center of the room. Curled up on the comforter in their tuxedos, Kaidan hugged Shepard close, hand rubbing the back of his skull—a motion familiar to the both of them, Shepard having done the same to Kaidan after a particularly bad migraine. Cosmo slipped in behind Shepard, pressed against his back, a constant guardian.

 Eventually Shepard could hear what Kaidan was saying.

 “I love you,” over and over again, soft and gentle and husky and heavy—warm and so achingly true in its tone.

 Shepard _felt_ the words.

 And it was through this process and these words, through gentle touches and their combined resolve that Kaidan and Shepard arrived at their wedding an hour late, their tuxedoes wrinkled and covered in dog hair, hand in hand and never letting go. Vows were whispered in front of family and friends and a single kiss—pure and a long time coming—sealed the deal.

 Married. At long last. And not a moment too soon, Kaidan’s mother said through happy tears and running eyeliner.

 And all through the night Shepard kept close to Kaidan, grounded and calmed by his presence—the presence of his best friend, his lover, his confidant, and now his husband.

 The wedding was a test of their relationship, and their marriage their reward.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Find me at lorastyrell.com if you ever want to chat or just read about my own trials and tribulations concerning my thesis!


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